


The History Books Forgot About Us

by j_marquis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Descriptions of gore, Episode Ignis Spoilers, M/M, shipping is very mild and can be ignored, spoilers post altissia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: Gladio saw, and he was powerless to do anything. (Inspired by the Episode Ignis trailer)





	The History Books Forgot About Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waywardmelody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardmelody/gifts).



Gladio could barely see past the fire, past the ships, the ravages of the Astrals that had been wrought on Altissia. And he knew he had his duties, he knew he had his service to his king and it was Noctis he should be looking for. Gladio knew all this. He knew every single one of his failures as a man and as the Shield to the one true King of Lucis. And he could count them, he could recite every single one of his failures before a court, before the past kings and shields. His father told him once that he would have to, when he died, be tried for his failures and have them weighed against his successes, his triumphs. Everything would be brought to light.

And this is what he would be damned for.

For not calling the name of his king, not calling for Noct, not searching for him among the dead and dying, not making his way to the altar to save his king from the Leviathan, or to help him in his plea for contract.

For calling another name, trying to save another man.

_Ignis,_ he called, _Ignis, Ignis. Ignis, where are you, talk to me, Ignis, please, where are you please Astrals please tell me you're alive._

But Ignis wasn't there.

Gladio would tear Altissia down from it's foundations to find Ignis. He would damn his king and damn himself to save one man. He would tear the stars from the sky, rip apart the Leviathan and the Titan with his bare hands if it would save Ignis from all this. Save him from their fate and from Altissia and from the war. He would end the world himself if it meant getting Ignis out of all this, keeping him safe.

And then Ignis was there.

Across a waterway that might as well have been an ocean for all he was capable of crossing it, Ignis was there. Surrounded. The rain came down too hard for Gladio to hear what he said, to see more than the soldiers, than Ignis. And that, that thing, that daemon playing in a human form who called himself Izunia. And Noctis, crumpled on the floor, beaten and battered and Ignis stood over him like his frail wracked body could protect their king.

Gladio shouted, over the rain, over the storm, shouted, like he thought he could be heard.

Because Ignis had the ring of the Lucii.

Ignis was putting it on.

Gladio had heard legends, had seen for himself, the ring killed. It killed slowly if you were found worthy, if you were one of the Kings of Lucis, it killed slowly. But if you weren't, it just killed. It just burned, it took everything, because you dared to ask for power.

Ignis was a good man, a great man, a strong, brilliant, loving man, but he was not a King. And he was going to die.

Gladio dove into the water, the ice cold storm and the currents pushing at him, pulling him under, flooding his lungs when he tried to breathe. Gushes of pink swam by his vision, watered down blood flowing in the canals. He kicked his legs against the current, pleading in every movement to make it there, to find a way, to make it to Ignis and Noctis and save just one of them. He'd wear the ring himself if he had to, barter with the past kings, he had always known he would have to give his life for his king one day, it was the Shields, the Amicitia legacy. And maybe, just maybe, he could save Ignis too.

If he could survive the torrent of the canals. If he could survive the debris that the winds sent flying through the water, pieces of buildings and gondolas and people who had not survived the wrath of the Leviathan, the invasion of the Niflheim troops.

When he finally pulled himself to the other side, the soldiers were gone. Izunia was gone. All that remained were Ignis, Noctis, and pools of blood that dripped into the stone, trailed into the canals, covered Ignis. Noctis was safe. He was unharmed, he looked like he was only sleeping, his chest moved with small, soft breaths. Noctis was safe. Whatever had happened, whatever Ignis had done, it had worked. Their king was safe.

But Ignis, oh, his Ignis.

He still wore the ring, his hand was torn up and bloodied, the ring glistening in the gore. His chest barely moved, but he was breathing. Somehow. His shirt was ripped to shreds, his chest open in more than one place, and his eye. His beautiful eye. Gone. The other bore a cut above it, but one, it was just, gone. Only a hole, torn skin, exposed muscle and bone, remained. Gladio wrenched out a sob, took the ring from Ignis' hand. He gathered the body ( _had Ignis always felt so small?_ ) into his arms.

He held him, and he waited for help.


End file.
